


The Silence of the Jungle Broken

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Jungle, Alternate Universe - The Jungle Book, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disney's <em>The Jungle Book</em> AU. When Gavroche's life is in danger, Combeferre the panther vows to take him back to the man-village, where he will be safe. But Gavroche - and Courfeyrac the bear - have other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silence of the Jungle Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Courfeyrac and Combeferre's relationship here is vague enough that if the thought of interspecies romantic feelings turn you off, you can entirely imagine it as platonic.
> 
> I changed the character of Shere Khan to Nēśanala Gārḍa, Hindi for National Guard (for obvious reasons), and the vultures and monkeys got fused into the same characters because...well, just because.
> 
> Usual disclaimer, with an added caveat: The Jungle Book was written in an era of colonialism/racism/exoticism, and some of that inevitably translated into the 1967 film, which is what I used as a basis for this. Though I tried my best to steer clear of any such thing, I undoubtedly did not 100% succeed, and though this not an excuse, it is an acknowledgement of my own shortcomings and possible internalized issues. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

It was not wrong to say that after his parents had disappeared, Gavroche, a young man-cub, had been adopted by the jungle, but it was far more accurate to say that Gavroche had adopted the jungle. The man-cub made the jungle his home, knowing every nook and cranny of the small part of it he called his. And the inhabitants, too, became adopted siblings and surrogate authority, if not parental, figures.

In particular, he found himself drawn to a group of animals who called themselves Les Amis de l'ABC. There was Enjolras, a charming young wolf who was capable of being terrible, and who was the de facto leader of his merry band dedicated to bettering the lives of all the jungle citizens. His more stern moods were tempered by his dark-furred mate, Grantaire, and just as much by his two lieutenants, a bear named Courfeyrac, and a panther named Combeferre. Two more wolves were part of their group, Joly and Bossuet, Bahorel was a mongoose, Feuilly was an elephant who used to work for the humans in the village before escaping into the jungle, and Jean Prouvaire was a mild-mannered python.

Gavroche was raised by the wildness in the jungle, and so grew up to be just as wild, but with a structure that only freedom could provide. He was occasionally ill-mannered and ill-spoken, but was compassionate and smart and often recklessly brave. He held his own against even Enjolras on occasion, but was content mostly to play within the ruins of a temple dedicated to Ganesha, living in the hollowed-out head of a statue of the elephant god. And the jungle was content to have him.

Until, at least, the group received word that Nēśanala Gārḍa was back in the jungle.

Nēśanala Gārḍa was a tiger, a notoriously evil tiger who led his own band. This band, however, was not dedicated toward good, but instead towards wreaking havoc within the jungle, keeping those low on the food chain in their proper places. And Nēśanala Gārḍa in particular hated humans, and had sworn to kill any who crossed his path.

Including, potentially, Gavroche.

Enjolras and his group met together late at night, when Gavroche was asleep in his elephant statue, to discuss what they were going to do about Nēśanala Gārḍa. On one thing, they were absolutely agreed: they would not again let Nēśanala Gārḍa ravage the jungle, but would instead fight against him and his group. Enjolras was particularly vocal of the principle that if they just stood against him, others would surely join them in their cause.

Grantaire was more skeptical, and lingered in the back of the clearing, watching Enjolras with worry in his pale eyes, occasionally muttering to Joly and Bossuet. The rest were more in favor, and spoke vigorously to that effect.

It was Courfeyrac who finally mentioned it, though, rubbing his back against the rough bark of a tree as he asked in his off-hand, casual way, “What about Gavroche?”

Combeferre’s ear flicked forward and he snorted, shifting slightly on the tree branch on which he perched. “We will send him away, back to the man-village, or at least away from the fighting. He may only be a man-cub, but that will not stop Nēśanala Gārḍa, not when he’s already going to be fighting tooth and claw. The strongest battles always occur when trying to stop systemic change, like the change we try to bring about here, and I don’t think any of us would put a child in harm’s way.”

“But why back to the man-village?” Courfeyrac objected, which was hardly surprising — he and Gavroche were quite companionable. “We could just as easily hide him away somewhere in the jungle, somewhere where Nēśanala Gārḍa will not find him.”

Jehan nodded slowly, his tongue flicking out as he stared unblinkingly at Combeferre. “Iii could take himmm,” he suggested. “Up into the treesssss, where only my kin goesss.”

Bahorel snorted, his keen eyes bright. “Your kin, and the birds, and the monkeys. If Patron-Minette gets ahold of the man-cub, they would turn him over to Nēśanala Gārḍa in the mere beat of a heart.”

“That group of thieving monkeys has no love for Nēśanala Gārḍa,” Joly interjected, lifting his muzzle from where he had been licking one of Bossuet’s bald patches. “And we could easily set guards to watch over Gavroche.”

Bossuet turned his own muzzle toward Joly. “What guards, though?” he asked. “You and I could be willing, but we can no more climb a tree than make it into some of the more remote areas of the jungle.”

“Even if we had someone able to guard him, we need every animal here,” Enjolras said firmly, glancing around the clearing. “I would not hold you to fight if you do not wish. You know you are free to leave. But if you would stay, then I cannot spare you. The rights of the animals of this jungle are at stake, and if the price is sending a man-cub back to where he rightly belongs, it is a price I am willing to pay.”

“But what if he could fight?” Feuilly asked, lifting his trunk into the air. “You know Gavroche as well as I — he would fight if given the chance, would insist on fighting. And there is good that could come from that.”

Now Enjolras looked conflicted, his ears pressing back against his head, but Grantaire spoke up for the first time, his words quiet, and directed solely at Enjolras. “We would die with you and for you,” he said, his ears pricked forward with intent. “But we know the costs. Gavroche is a child — a cub. Does he?”

Enjolras bowed his head for a long moment and was silent, the way he normally was when making a difficult decision. Then he let out a soft  _woof_ and shook his head. “There are enough who may die here, facing our foes, and I would not sentence a child to the same, and protecting him would only be a distraction we do not need.” His eyes flickered over to Courfeyrac, who stared back at him, his eyes dark and unreadable, then to Combeferre. “Combeferre, you are my my most valued lieutenant, my right-paw cat, and while I need you here, there is none who I would trust more with this. Escort Gavroche to the man-village and return as quickly as you can. Do not tarry, do not stop. Every hour Nēśanala Gārḍa draws nearer, and us to our fates.”

Combeferre nodded, the tip of his tail twitching, but he was not looking at Enjolras; he was looking at Courfeyrac. “I will take him first thing in the morning,” Combeferre said quietly, and Enjolras nodded, turning back to the group at large, the conversation turning with him to matters of more importance. But still Combeferre watched Courfeyrac, his whiskers occasionally twitching.

* * *

 

True to his word, the following morning, Combeferre prowled toward the temple, pausing occasionally, his ears twitching. Finally, he stopped and called, “Courfeyrac, if you’re going to follow me, at least do it openly. You never were much one for stealth.”

The bear ambled into the open, at least having the decency to look slightly shamefaced. “I wasn’t following you, per se,” he muttered, scratching his ear with one claw. “I was just headed in the same direction.”

Combeferre’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “And you’re almost as bad a liar as you are at following silently.” He sat down on the branch, his tail flicking from side to side. “What was your plan? Were you going to take Gavroche elsewhere?”

Courfeyrac sat down as well and shrugged. “I was at least going to give him the option to do what he wanted.”

“He is a child, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre reminded him, his voice gentle. “I am as much not in favor of taking anyone’s rights away from them as anyone, but he is a child, and his life is in danger.”

“He is but a few seasons younger than Jean Prouvaire, the youngest of our number, and you would let him fight.”

Combeferre blinked impassively. “Jean Prouvaire is capable of making his own choices, and the difference a few seasons makes is considerable.” He tilted his head as he examined Courfeyrac closely. “You and I have been friends for many seasons. Do you really think I make this decision lightly?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “You are my best friend,” he said quietly. “I trust you with my life. But he is…Gavroche is my little britches.”

“Courfeyrac…” Combeferre started, but at that moment, Gavroche appeared, beaming at them both.

“Good morning, Combeferre! Hey, Courfeyrac!” He went straight to Courfeyrac and gave him a big hug. “What’re you both doing in this part of the jungle?”

Courfeyrac made to speak, but Combeferre cut him off with a warning glance. “We’ve come to talk to you. Nēśanala Gārḍa is back in the jungle, and he has sworn to kill any men that he finds. Including you, man-cub.”

Gavroche stared at Combeferre blankly. “Ok…” he said slowly. “So what’re we going to do about it?”

Combeferre cleared his throat and said delicately, “ _We_  are going to fight. Enjolras is gathering those willing to him to end Nēśanala Gārḍa’s reign of terror once and for all. But you…”

Now Gavroche frowned. “What about me?” he asked. “Surely I’m gonna to fight with you.”

Courfeyrac spoke now, patting Gavroche on the shoulder, careful not to catch him with his long claws. “It’s going to be dangerous for you, little britches. It’s not just about fighting — Nēśanala Gārḍa wants to kill you.”

“But I can fight!” Gavroche said, his voice quavering slightly. “I’ll kill ‘im if he comes after me! Just you watch!”

Combeferre shook his head, his tone turning stern. “No, we’re going to take you to the man-village. You will be safe there, among your own kind.”

“But I don’t want to go to the man-village!” Gavroche protested, switching his gaze to Courfeyrac. “Courf, tell him I don’t have to go! I want to stay here with you! I want to fight!”

Courfeyrac put a protective paw around Gavroche’s shoulder. “If I had my way, little britches, I’d let you stay. You’re almost a man now, and you have the right to fight for yourself.”

Combeferre’s tail flicked in irritation, and he growled, “He is not almost a man, Courfeyrac. He is a child.”

Shaking his head, Courfeyrac crossed to Combeferre, his claws sinking into the ground in frustration. “You shouldn’t get to make that decision. He should be able to decide for himself what he wants to do, or else you throw the rights of all out the window.”

“This has nothing to do with the rights of all,” Combeferre hissed. “This has to do with protecting an innocent life, one who cannot defend himself, who has no fangs or claws. He’s not a bear like you, Courfeyrac, no matter how much you might want him to be. He is a man-cub, and does not even have the fire that man fights with.”

Courfeyrac drew himself up onto his hind legs, so that he was eye-to-eye with where Combeferre still perched on the tree branch. “I know that he is not a bear,” Courfeyrac said quietly, though he bared his fangs slightly. “I’m not delusional. But if he is man enough for Nēśanala Gārḍa to want to kill him, then he is man enough to fight for his own life, if he wishes.”

Combeferre growled, low in his throat. “You are my closest friend, but you are  _wrong_  here. We have an obligation to protect those who cannot fight for themselves, and no matter how much you wish it were true, Gavroche cannot protect himself.”

“You are my closest friend as well, and we share everything together, including our opinions,” Courfeyrac said, growling as well. “And I’m of the opinion that you’re  _wrong_  here.”

“Well,  _I’m_  of the opinion—” Combeferre started hotly, then broke off, his pupils dilating. “Where is Gavroche?”

Courfeyrac snorted. “He’s right—” He turned and saw that Gavroche, in fact, was not behind him, having apparently slipped out of the clearing. He turned back to Combeferre and said stupidly, “He’s gone.”

Combeferre growled again. “Obviously,” he snapped, then took a deep breath, forcing the fur on his shoulders to lie down. “Sorry. That’s not going to help find Gavroche.” He fixed Courfeyrac with an intent stare. “And you do mean to help me find him, do you not?”

“Of course,” Courfeyrac said instantly. “Whatever our differences in opinion on what to do with Gavroche, we can’t let him wander around on his own with Nēśanala Gārḍa possibly in the jungle already. Where do you think that he’s gone?”

“There’s only one place he could’ve gone where he’d think that we wouldn’t follow him,” Combeferre said grimly. “To Patron-Minette.”

* * *

 

“Hey Gueulemer,” Babet said, hanging by his tail from a vine above the decrepit temple where Patron-Minette lived. “What we gonna do?”

Gueulemer shrugged and picked a bug out of Claquesous’s fur and ate it. “Dunno. What do you wanna do?”

Babet sighed heavily and dropped off the vine, grabbing a banana and eating it, tossing the peel over his shoulder. “Look, Gueulemer, first I say, ‘what we gonna do?’ Then you say, ‘I dunno, what you wanna do?’ Then I say, ‘What we gonna do?’ You say, “What you wanna do?’ ‘What we gonna do?’ ‘What you wanna’ — Let’s just do something!”

“Okay,” Gueulemer said noncommittally. “What you wanna do?”

Before Babet could answer, most likely in the form of flinging poop at Gueulemer’s head, Gavroche burst into the ruins, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. He stopped when he saw the three of them. “Where’s Montparnasse?” he asked, in lieu of greeting.

“Doing things,” Gueulemer told Gavroche, as Babet snorted and muttered, “Wish  _we_  were doing things.”

Just then, Montparnasse dropped into the ruins. “Well, what have we here,” he said pleasantly, his eyes glinting. “What are you doing here, man-cub?”

“I wanna come live with you,” Gavroche said boldly. “I can help you guys with…whatever it is you do. And you’d let me stay here in the jungle with you, right?”

Montparnasse shrugged, swinging over to broken column and plopping down on it, stroking the dark fur on his chin contemplatively. “Well, I suppose we could,” he mused. “But you couldn’t come with us today. Or tonight. Or tomorrow.”

Gavroched frowned at him. “And why not? What’re you doing that I can’t help with?”

Montparnasse looked impassively at him and pronounced, “Things,” before shoving two bananas into his mouth.

“C’mon, Montparnasse,” Gavroche wheedled. “The other guys have kicked me out. They wanna make me go to the man-village, and I just want to stay in the jungle and help them fight.”

Claquesous tugged away from Gueulemer. “Fight, you say?” he asked, sounding interested. “What kind of fight?”

Gavroche shrugged. “They said they’re gonna fight Nēśanala Gārḍa.” He looked around at the four apes. “You guys will help fight, too, won’t you?”

Montparnasse leaned back and laughed. “Nah, man-cub. Fighting’s not our style. We prefer to  _survive_. When the fighting’s done, we’ll be there. Probably picking over the corpses of your friends.”

Gueulemer and Babet hooted with laughter, and Gavroche’s eyes went wide. He started to back away, but Gueulemer blocked him, grinning fiercely at him. “Where you going, man-cub?”

Gavroche tried running in the opposite direction, but Babet swung over to drop in front of him, also grinning. “Come on, man-cub, stay awhile. We were looking for something to do. Play with us!”

Shaking his head, Gavroche pretended like he was going to run in the opposite direction of where Montparnasse sat, looking almost bored with the proceedings, then doubled back, dodging past the column that Montparnasse sat on and streaking through the ruins, where he ran smack-dab into someone he had never intended to see: Javert the elephant, who patrolled the jungle, and who was sworn to never forget a crime. “Man-cub,” Javert pronounced, picking Gavroche up with his trunk and hauling him up to eye level to stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

Gavroche crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said crossly.

Surprisingly, that statement seemed to startle Javert, and he dropped Gavroche. “Well, never mind that,” he said, a little distractedly, and shoved Gavroche away with his trunk. “Go away about your business and clear out of here.”

Though Gavroche obediently headed past, he paused to look back, curious as to Javert’s intention, and was surprised when Claquesous dropped out of the branches above to land in front of Javert, conferring with him in a low tone. Gavroche was close enough to just make out what they were saying, and his eyes widened at what he heard. He quickly slipped away, knowing that he needed to tell Courfeyrac and Combeferre exactly what he had heard.

* * *

 

“So what’s the plan?” Courfeyrac asked Combeferre as they ran towards Patron-Minette’s ruins. “Take ‘em out with the ol’ one-two?”

“Do you even know what that means?” Combeferre asked, amused in spite of himself. “I was hoping we could sneak in, grab Gavroche, and sneak out.”

Courfeyrac slowed. “And once we sneak out? Then what?”

Combeferre slowed as well, his golden eyes narrowing. “Do you really want to have this conversation right now?” he growled. “Can it not wait until we have Garvroche safely with us?”

“I just want what’s best for him,” Courfeyrac said in a quiet voice.

Combeferre sighed and shook his head. “As do I. We just have differing ideas on what that ‘best’ entails.”

Their conversation was forestalled by the sudden reappearance of Gavroche, who saw them and blurted, “You won’t believe what I just heard.”

Courfeyrac reached out with both paws to steady Gavroche. “What did you hear?” he asked, curious.

“I heard Javert talking with Claquesous. They’ve both spies for Nēśanala Gārḍa and plan on infiltrating Les Amis,” Gavroche said, all in one breath, his eyes wide. “We have to go back! We have to warn Enjolras what they’re planning.”

Combeferre leapt off the branch he was standing on and landed silently on the jungle floor. “ _We_  do not have to do anything,” he said firmly. “Enjolras would not be foolish enough to fall for either of them as spies. And besides, this just means that we have to get you to man-village as quickly as possible so that Courfeyrac and I can return with this news.”

Gavroche put his hands on his hips and glared at Combeferre. “Haven’t I proven that I can take care of myself? I got away from Montparnasse and Patron-Minette, and Javert!”

“But only after running away in the first place,” Combeferre reasoned, his whiskers twitching. “And a man who wants to stay and fight would not have run away.”

Gavroche turned his pleading gaze to Courfeyrac, who looked at Combeferre, hesitating. Then Courfeyrac sighed. “I have to agree with Combeferre, little britches. Nēśanala Gārḍa is dangerous, and you running away from us hasn’t helped your cause. Just stay in the man-village for a little while. You can come back to the jungle when it’s safer.”

Gavroche’s eyes widened, and he backed away from Courfeyrac. “You’re just as bad as he is!” he told Courfeyrac, tears welling in his eyes. “I wanted to stay with you, fight like a bear, just like you!”

“I want that, too,” Courfeyrac told him. “But you’re not a bear, Gavroche. You’re a man-cub. And I want you to be safe.”

Shaking his head, Gavroche told them angrily, “No! You can’t make me! I will stay in the jungle, and I will fight Nēśanala Gārḍa, and I  _will_  win!”

He turned and ran, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac glanced at each other. “You agree with me?” Combeferre asked, a little surprised.

“I can occasionally recognize your wisdom,” Courfeyrac told him, smiling slightly. “You’re always more logical, after all.”

Combeferre pressed against Courfeyrac and purred. “And you’re the heart and the center.”

Courfeyrac patted Combeferre’s head, then said, “Shouldn’t we be chasing after Gavroche?”

“Oh,” Combeferre said, swishing his tail as if embarrassed. “Yes. I suppose so.”

And together they ran in pursuit of Gavroche.

* * *

 

This time, Gavroche did not run to Patron-Minette, and did not get caught by Javert. Instead, he found himself in a grassy clearing, one that seemed almost unnaturally quiet, and he took a tentative step into the clearing. “Hello?” he called. “Is anyone there?”

On the opposite end of the clearing, the grass rustled, and Gavroche’s eyes widened as from the grass, the form of massive tiger rose, his teeth bared in a savage grin as he looked at Gavroche. “Nēśanala Gārḍa,” Gavroche breathed.

“My reputation precedes me,” Nēśanala Gārḍa said, his voice a low baritone. “I am indeed, and you, of course, are the man-cub I have heard so much about.”

Gavroche’s hands curled into firsts at his sides. “If you’ve heard about me, then you know that I’m not afraid of you, or those who fight with you. You’re nothing but a coward, preying on those weaker than you!”

Nēśanala Gārḍa chuckled. “It’s good that you’re not afraid of me,” he told Gavroche, his tail swishing dangerously. “Because I’m not afraid of you. If you were a real man, maybe, but you have no fire, and nothing to fight with.”

“You should be afraid of me,” Gavroche shot back, his dark eyes shining, raising his small fists to hold them in front of him. “When I grow up, I’ll come back and I’ll kill you. So you should run, because I won’t give up, but I  _will_  grow up.”

Flexing his claws, Nēśanala Gārḍa gave Gavroche a sharp smile. “But that’s just the thing,” he purred. “I have no intention of letting you grow up.”

He prowled silently towards Gavroche, who bent and picked up a large branch from the ground, brandishing it. Then, Nēśanala Gārḍa pounced.

It was a short battle; armed with only a stick, Gavroche was no match for Nēśanala Gārḍa’s claws and fangs, and the boy fell heavily, just as Combeferre and Courfeyrac appeared at the clearing, both breathing heavily from having run so far. “No!” Courfeyrac shouted as Gavroche fell, and Nēśanala Gārḍa looked over at them, his fangs bared.

“Your time will come,” Nēśanala Gārḍa called, licking the blood from his muzzle. “You have no chance, no chance at all.”

Courfeyrac growled and Combeferre let out a yowl, both of them rushing into the clearing. Nēśanala Gārḍa retreated hastily, but still somehow triumphant as he disappeared into the forest. Courfeyrac ran straight to Gavroche’s side, though Combeferre could tell from where he stood that it was in vain. “Little britches,” Courfeyrac choked, sitting heavily next to the still body, tears coursing down his face.

Combeferre pressed himself against Courfeyrac, nuzzling against him, his own tears mingling with the bear’s. “We will make them pay,” Combeferre promised, his voice breaking, wishing that he could say something more, something that would somehow make all of this seem better than it was. “We will make Nēśanala Gārḍa pay for this, for Gavroche.”

After a long moment, Courfeyrac nodded, and he bent to touch his nose to Combeferre’s for a brief moment. Then he stood, making his way over to where Gavroche lay, so vibrant in life, and so very small and still in death, and picked up his tiny body, cradling him in his paws. “I will carry him,” he told Combeferre, his voice unsteady. “I will bring him back to the jungle with us.”

Combeferre made no move to argue, instead crossing to Courfeyrac, nudging his leg companionably with his head. “Together,” he promised, as much for what they had faced as what they would inevitably face, and Courfeyrac managed a small smile as he looked down at him, even though tears still glinted in his eyes.

“Of course,” he said, before adding offhandedly the three words that neither had needed to say, then or now, but that both needed to hear, now more than ever, “I love you.”

Combeferre nudged him again and told him, “And I, you.”

And together, they walked back towards the jungle, bearing the body of their fallen comrade, toward the battle that may claim them all.


End file.
